As the days pass and you are feeling low,
You have to get another poem ready,
And so thinking and burning something aglow,
Just be careful, do not write when you are angry,
For you might write and immortalize,
Something off the cuff and in bad taste,
You do not want to be known as only rude and obscene,
So be careful what you write, if you do so in haste,
You know the engineers have made you irate,
And other ass licking idiots in your workplace,
I am not naming names they know who they are,
Trying to be the employee of the year!
I don’t care about your politics or your way of life,
I couldn’t give a toss of you personally or your wife,
I am here to do my thing the best way I can,
My employers have made it clear , who I am,
To them just another number and a debt,
No matter how good and precise you work,
They don’t care even if you’re efficient,
To them you are a square peg for a round hole,
Ok I reply too much and I tell them my point of view,
So don’t write when you’re angry whatever you do,
I’ve not backed down and still I’m in employment,
Supervisors and managers? I am not here for their enjoyment,
But the main factor is what I say is right,
Just said in the wrong way with extra spice,
For working is what we all have to do,
A fifty year old high mountain to eat with a spoon,
Hours of your life traveling to and fro,
With the air miles I’ve gained I could move to the moon,
So work like I said way back in ’92,
In a poem I cannot quite remember,
“Work, do I have to?
Work, I’m feeling rough,
Work, is a necessity,
Work and I’ve had enough!”
Above words are in the style of that piece,
Obviously, the words are not the same,
Wrote in the toilets at Leyland Bus,
That no longer exist, what a shame,
For many a year I have wrote and erased,
So much binned and lost, you would be amazed,
All the time and those wages, from this thing called work,
All the petty people who drive me berserk,
Therefore, fuel is my fire and fire says I am angry,
So better not write, might come out funny,
So as I calm down, my pen is my cure,
Even though it’s Christmas,
I send presents full of manure,
Only to these so called friends at work,
Later today I should travel to HQ,
To toast and see these people for the last time this year,
Just thinking of that, makes me cheer,
Nope I am staying in my office up to the death,
Sod the lot of them I say under my breath,
Just cannot wait to return home to my nest,
With Elisa by my side, I will be feeling best.
Even though I am again angry and irate,
I have to be careful and what I write.

©D.Hobson December 2013